


Fault Line

by VivArney



Category: Mission: Impossible (TV 1988)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 11:23:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5625007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VivArney/pseuds/VivArney





	Fault Line

Summary - Jim Phelps’ and his team must save a teacher  
and his pupil after they’re captured by a criminal.

 

FAULT-LINE

 

Jim Phelps looked up as the doorbell rang. He set the tray with the coffee pot and cups he was carrying down on the desk and went to the door. He opened it to see Max Harte and Grant Collier standing in the hallway. "Hi. You made good time," he said, glancing at his watch. He stepped out of the way and let the younger men enter.

"What's up, Jim?" Grant asked.

"Yeah, Shannon said it was urgent."

"It is urgent, Max. Come on in and sit down. Shannon will be with us in a few minutes. She's making some phone calls."

Max and Grant set their suitcases down out of the way and perched themselves on the large, leather sofa. 

"Must be something big," Max said in a quiet voice. "When's Nicholas due in?"

Phelps handed each of the men a cup of coffee and sat in the big armchair. "Nicholas won't be joining us here, Max." He opened the recessed panel in the coffee table and tapped a series of keys on the computer keyboard.

A photo of a handsome man of about forty-five or fifty appeared on the screen across the room. 

"Douglas Stubin?"

"Right, Grant."

"Who?" Max asked.

"Douglas Stubin is a former FBI agent who left the agency about ten years ago. According to the files, there was a dispute about the way he and his partner, Allan Jarrott, handled the Randy Justin kidnapping case."

Grant looked thoughtful. "Yeah, I remember hearing about that one. It was a blood bath. The boy was caught in a crossfire and killed during the rescue attempt."

Phelps nodded. "David Justin, the boy's father, was a wealthy industrialist. The kidnappers wanted five million dollars for his return. Grant's right about the blood bath. It was a terrible tragedy. By the time it was over, the kidnappers were all dead and so was Stubin's partner. Only Stubin knows what really happened that day and he's not talking. Stubin returned the boy's body to his family and no charges were filed."

"But Stubin left in disgrace."

"He was forced out, Max," Phelps said. "And, he was very bitter about it. Over the last eight years or so, Stubin has been suspected of running everything from illegal drugs to illegal weapons. He's also reputed to be heavily into political kidnappings and extortion."

"Nice fella," Max muttered. "I don't understand. If everyone is so certain he's involved in all that, why haven't they done anything about it?"

"Because, until this week, he's always been able to cover his tracks."

"So, what happened this week?" Grant asked.

Phelps gave them a half-smile. "Apparently, Mr. Stubin has been hiding his computer files in various modem accessible computers across the country - schools, banks, businesses and so on."

"So, that if he was caught, the computer files wouldn't be there to implicate him," Grant said.

Phelps nodded. "This week, someone got into his files and read them." 

"Ouch," Grant said. "A hacker."

"Yes. A student, Michael Lehrer, on a visit to a computer fair at a school in the Silicone Valley used the computer and modem he was assigned for the duration of the fair to hack his way into a series of locked files in the school's main computer. Apparently, one of the directories was called "GAMEPLAN" and he decided he wanted to study what he'd found in more detail later, so he made copies of the files. A teacher overheard him telling one of the other boys about it in the corridor and recognized Stubin's name, the same way Grant did just now, so he picked up the disks, put them away for safekeeping and contacted us."

A familiar face appeared on the viewscreen.

"Nicholas?"

Phelps nodded again.

"So, we're going to Nicholas' school."

Phelps shook his head. "No, we won't be going there, Max. That could blow Nicholas' cover, if it hasn't been blown already. No, Dave Frasier will be going to the school to search the computer records, copy any he finds, retrieve the copies Michael made and delete any of Stubin's files that might left."

"I could do that from here, Jim," Grant said slightly confused. 

Phelps nodded. "I know, but I want to make sure we get all of them."

"Isn't that a rather risky? If his files suddenly disappear, Stubin will take it out on Nicholas and the boy," Max said worriedly.

"I'm counting on it. That's why we'll be going to Stubin's mansion in California."

"Why?"

"Because, we're sure that's where they've taken Nicholas and Michael."

Shannon walked in, carrying a clipboard and sat down beside Grant. She consulted her notes. "I just got off the phone with the Dean at Nicholas' school. Mr. Costello says he has no idea why Nicholas and Michael were taken, but another of the boys, Ricky Hunter, saw them being shoved into a blue van. Nicholas must have put up a struggle, though, he was limping and one of Stubin's men had a bloody nose. Ricky got the license plate number and we ran it. The van is registered to Walsh Pharmaceuticals, a subsidiary of Stubin Industries."

"Where are the disks now?" Jim asked.

"Dave Frasier's already picked them up. He and Mark Stevens are working on the computer right now. Dave  
says he'll be ready to transmit the files to Grant's computer whenever he's ready."

"Good." Phelps turned to Grant. "We'll need something close enough to Stubin's data to keep him happy long enough to get Nicholas and the boy clear."

Grant nodded his understanding. "I'll take care of it."

Jim tapped at the keyboard again. "This is a floorplan of Stubin's mansion. We're sure Stubin's men will be taking them there for interrogation. It's a more manageable area."

"Especially, since Stubin's not going to want anyone to see Nicholas or the boy," Grant mumbled. 

Phelps pointed to a room that was flashing alternately blue and white. "That's Stubin's office."

"That still leaves us a lot of rooms to check," Max said.

"I'll be checking as many of them as I can," Shannon said. "I'll be working there starting tomorrow as Bernadette Limon, the famous French interior decorator."

"That was quick." Max laughed.

"It seems Mrs. Stubin wants to redecorate the house," Jim put in.

"So, what will we be doing?"

"You'll be posing as my assistant, Max," Shannon told him.

"And Grant will be busy altering Stubin's files and covering for us, if we need him," Jim said.

The men nodded.

"Now, remember," Phelps said. "We've already got all the evidence we need to convict Douglas Stubin, all we've got to do is rescue the boy and Nicholas before anything happens to either of them."

* * * * *

"Professor Black?" the boy's voice was calling as Nicholas Black's mind swam up from the blackness. "Professor Black? Are you all right, sir?"

'He sounds scared to death,' was Nicholas' first coherent thought. He opened his eyes to find he was lying on his side on a cold, cement floor. He took a deep breath, then pushed himself into a sitting position and looked around. He blinked in the room's bright light. "I'm okay," he muttered groggily. "Where are we?"

The boy looked doubtful. "Are you sure? You've been out for almost an hour. That guy must have hit you pretty hard."

"Where are we?" he asked again.

Michael gave him a confused look. "Don't you remember?"

Nicholas frowned. He rubbed the sore spot on the back of his neck where he must have been hit and tried to remember. "A... house... somewhere. Who hit me?" He  
shook his head trying to clear it, then winced at the pain that the movement brought on.

"The guy you punched back at the school," Michael told  
him. "He said he was getting you back for giving him  
that bloody nose."

Nicholas stood, a bit shakily at first, and explored the room he and the fourteen year old occupied.

It was small, about seven feet square and the walls were a featureless white. The door was the same stark white as the walls and there was no knob. The light was encased in a wire basket high in the ceiling.

'This is NOT going to be easy,' he thought. He hadn't been on a mission when he was captured, so he had none  
of the wonderful IMF gadgets to help him. He'd either have to try to get himself and the boy out on his own or wait until the others could arrive.

"Professor Black?"

He turned to face the boy. "Yes, Michael."

"All the way here in the van, those men kept asking me where "the files" were. I told them I didn't know what they were talking about."

Nicholas took a deep breath. He ran his hand down his  
face and let the air out slowly. He had to remind himself that, though he was used to this type of situation, the boy wasn't. "It's a very long, very complicated story, Michael."

"Then, you do know what they're looking for."

Nicholas nodded. "Yes, I do."

"Are they talking about the files I downloaded off the computer? The ones you took from my desk?"

Nicholas sighed. "Yes, Michael, that's exactly what they're after."

"They searched you while you were unconscious."

Nicholas nodded again. He'd expected that much, but they wouldn't have found anything. He crouched beside Michael who was still sitting on the floor. "I'm sorry, Michael. I'd hoped I'd be able to keep you out of this," he said earnestly. "I'll do all I can to protect you, but you must do exactly as I tell you. No questions and no hesitations. Understand?"

Michael nodded. "Yes, sir. But, if you know where the files are, why don't you just tell them so we can go home?"

Nicholas put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm afraid it doesn't work that way. Right now, that information is the only thing that's keeping us alive."

The door opened and Nicholas stood up, pulling Michael up with him. A tall man with dark hair and eyes stepped into the room. He looked the two of them over silently before he spoke. "You're quite right, Professor Black."

Nicholas stood, watching the other man without a word.

Stubin smiled. "I'd like to know something, Professor  
Black. How could a Drama and English teacher at a small, Eastern boys prep school recognize my name so easily? Easily enough that he could confiscate my computer files from one of his students, or know that he would need to."

Nicholas shrugged. "Just lucky, I guess," he said with a smile. That remark earned him a swift, painful, backhanded slap across the face. The IMF agent staggered slightly, but kept his feet.

"Don't play games with me, Professor Black. I need you to find my files, but the boy is just so much added baggage. Now, answer my question. How did you recognize my name? Are you with the FBI?"

"No, I'm not with the FBI," Nicholas said. "I must have heard your name on the news or something. Maybe  
I read about you in the paper."

Stubin shoved Nicholas into the wall, knocking the wind out of him, and wrapped his fingers around the agent's throat. "You are lying, Professor Black. I don't like liars. Where are my files? They've been deleted off the school's computer and I have a feeling you know where they've gone and who deleted them."

Nicholas fought to get his breath back, but forced himself to stay calm. This latest piece of information told him that someone from the IMF was already on the way. He just had to wait for them to arrive and avoid doing anything that might put Michael in danger.

Stubin's grip tightened on his neck. "Where are they?"

Nicholas still didn't answer and Stubin released him, slamming him into the nearest wall. The ex-FBI agent walked over to the boy and slapped him hard across the  
face. 

Nicholas picked himself up off the floor and glanced over to make sure Michael was all right before he launched himself at the other man. He slammed Stubin, face first, against the wall. "And I don't like bullies, Stubin," he said in a dangerous whisper. "I told you, I don't know where your files are and, at the moment, I don't care." He pulled the man's arm up and around into a wrestler's hammerlock. "You release the boy, and I'll get your files back for you but, if you harm either of us, you'll never get them back."

Nicholas heard Stubin gasp as he pulled the other man's arm higher up his back.

"Professor Black, look out!" Michael yelled.

Nicholas looked back in time to see the blow coming, but too late to avoid it. Darkness swept over him as he felt himself falling.

"Contreras, you idiot!" Stubin yelled as Nicholas Black dropped to the floor.

"But..."

"Do you honestly think a school teacher could really do anything to me?"

Contreras, a heavy-set, gorilla type, shook his head. 

"All right then. I guess it's too late to worry about that now." Stubin looked to where the boy sat huddled in the corner. "When he comes around, you tell him he'd better tell the truth when I come back." Stubin followed Contreras out the door and slammed it behind them.

Michael took off his jacket. He rolled it into a ball and slid it under Nicholas' head. His thoughts whirled in his mind. It just didn't make sense. He had seen the brief, but unsuccessful scuffle between his teacher and Contreras back at the school. A few of the blows Professor Black had used looked like they were from a ninja movie or something. It was just too weird.

The teenager frowned. There was obviously much more  
to the normally unassuming English teacher. Nicholas  
Black had been one of the first people Michael had met at the school. Three years ago, he'd driven Michael to New York for the funeral after his parents were killed in a plane crash to offer to. Nicholas Black was also one of the students' favorites. His classes were among the most interesting and challenging the school offered - and the most rewarding. The older boys said that, if you managed to pass Nicholas Black's English class, it was something to be proud of. He wasn't one of the tough teachers, like  
Professor Osios, but he expected you to use your mind.

* * * * *

"Of course, Madam, you are quite right. We simply must replace these draperies. Perhaps something free and light... white lace, eh?" Shannon said in a heavy French accent as she, Max and Stubin's wife, Marion, walked through the rooms discussing the alterations the woman wanted made. The three of them had been through most of the rooms on the first and second floor, but there had been no sign of Nicholas or Michael Ridgely. She and the other members of the team hadn't expected their search to be easy, but she'd hoped for at least some clue.

Stubin walked into the living room. He encircled his wife's thin waist and kissed her. "Having fun, darling?"

Marion Stubin returned the kiss and laughed. 

"Loads, Douglas. What do you think? Lace?" 

"Whatever you like," he said. "Ms. Limon, you do whatever you think is right for the house. It's my wife's house and her money, so she can spend it any way she likes."

"Oui, Monsieur Stubin," Shannon agreed. "I think the lace will do wonderfully."

A large, man entered the room and motioned to Stubin who excused himself and went to talk to him. 

Without being too obvious about it, Max eased his way nearer to the two men. The big, blond agent bent to study the legs of an antique table as he listened to the men.

"All right then, Contreras," Stubin was saying in a whisper. "You must have hit him too hard, if he hasn't come around yet, go ahead and call Jameson. Have him make sure you didn't bash Black's skull in. I've got to get those files back. Now that the originals have been deleted from the school's  
computer, copying the copies the boy made are the only  
way to get my files back."

Max stood and moved slowly back to stand beside Shannon. "Ms. Limon, I think I should get some photographs of the room before we go any farther."

Shannon nodded. "Yes, Max. If that is agreeable with you, Mrs. Stubin." 

Marion Stubin's eyes glittered. "Certainly."

"I left the camera in the car," Max said. "I'll be right back."

As soon as he got outside, Max pulled out his tiny communicator. "Jim?"

"Yes, Max."

"I just overheard an interesting conversation between Stubin and one of his goons."

"Oh yes?"

Max quickly told the team leader what he'd heard.

"Good job, Max. Let's hope Nicholas isn't too badly hurt."

Max picked up the camera he'd come for and returned to the mansion.

* * * * *

Grant pushed a button on his computer keyboard in the abandoned trailer the team was using for a headquarters, intercepting the call. "Jameson."

"This is Contreras."

"Yeah, what?"

"We got a hurt man here. He's been out too long. Stubin wants you to check him out."

Grant forced himself to stay calm. He and Nicholas had been friends for a long time and it upset him to hear that the other man had been hurt. "Listen, I got to be in L.A. by dark. I'm gonna send an old friend of mine. He's okay. Real tight-mouthed guy."

"Stubin won't like it."

"Too bad. That's your only choice... if you still want this man checked."

"Okay. Send him, but he better not cause any trouble."

"He won't."

"What's his name? What's he look like?"

"Jim Adams. He's tall, white haired - about sixty."

"Okay. Get him here."

"He'll be there in about a half hour."

"Yeah."

Grant disconnected the call and sighed heavily.

"Good job, Grant," Phelps said.

"I almost didn't make it," he admitted. He pulled a small box from a case. "Here's the equipment you'll need to check Nicholas. It's the same headset we used on Shannon when she lost her memory."

Phelps opened his "doctor's bag" and placed the box into it. "I'm ready."

"Okay, I'll run the test as soon as I get your signal."

Phelps nodded. "I'll give them about ten minutes more before I head for the mansion."

"I just hope Nicholas and the boy are all right."

Phelps squeezed the younger man's shoulder, his blue  
eyes filled with concern. "So do I."

* * * * *

Michael looked up as Contreras finally returned sometime later with a tall, white haired man. The stranger set the black bag he carried down on the floor and crouched to examine Nicholas, then turned to glare at Contreras. "Did you do this?" he asked angrily.

The bigger man nodded. "He attacked Mr. Stubin."

"Get out," the old man ordered.

Contreras left, slamming the door behind him.

The stranger took something out of his pocket. He set  
it on the floor beside Nicholas and flipped a switch.   
"Hello, Michael, I'm Jim. I'm a friend of Nicholas'. Are you all right?"

Michael glanced up at the walls nervously. He knew Stubin and his men were listening.

Jim smiled reassuringly. "It's all right," he said quietly. He indicated the gadget on the floor. "This is a white noise device, they can't hear us now, so we can talk freely.

"Yes, sir," Michael answered quietly. "But, Professor Black..."

"I'm here to take care of him," Phelps said. He took a small headset out of his "doctor's bag" and slipped it around Nicholas' head. He pulled another device out of his pocket and thumbed a rocker switch. "Ready, Grant?"

"Yeah, Jim. Here goes," another man's voice answered.

The ends of the headset glowed faintly, then went out.

"Some slight damage, Jim, he's got a mild concussion, but he's going to be okay," Grant said in a relieved voice. 

"Good," Phelps said relieved. "From the looks of that man, Contreras, I was sure there had to be some damage."

Michael, too, let out a relieved sigh. 

"I'll bet he'll have one hell of a headache, though," Grant noted.

"I don't doubt it," Phelps said as he broke contact and put the headset back into the bag and pulled out a syringe. He injected something into Nicholas' arm and put the syringe away. "Michael, that shot is going to do two things. It's going to bring Nicholas around in about half an hour and it will make him feel pretty uncomfortable. It won't really harm him, but the drug will make him look and feel as though he was badly hurt by Contreras. Do you understand?"

Michael shrugged. "I guess so, but if you're his friend, why are you trying to make him sick?"

Phelps smiled. "He'll understand. Now, we're going to get you and Nicholas out of here as soon as we can. We want to throw a scare into Mr. Stubin," Phelps admitted. "Pay close attention, Michael. Now, remember, when Nicholas wakes up, he's not going to be feeling too well and he's going to need you to stay close and help him as much as you can. Do whatever he says, all right?"

"Yes, sir. He already told me."

Phelps put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Good boy. Oh, one more thing." He pulled a small packet from his pocket and handed it to Michael. "When he wakes up, give him this, he'll know what to do with it. But, whatever you do, don't let Stubin or his men see it, okay?"

Michael nodded.

"I wish I could stay longer, but Stubin might get suspicious."

"We'll be all right."

Phelps picked up the white noise device, thumbing it off as he stood. "Your teacher's in pretty bad shape, son. I hope he lives long enough to do whatever Stubin wants," he said, a little louder than he needed to. He pocketed the device before he rapped on the door and Contreras let him out of the cell. 

* * * * *

Grant was still at the trailer when Max and Shannon returned. 

"How's Nicholas?" Max asked.

"Jim ran the test about twenty minutes ago. He'll be okay," Grant assured them. "But he won't be feeling too well for the next hour or so."

"You didn't give him that "hangover" concoction of yours?" Shannon asked.

Grant nodded, smiling slightly. "All the symptoms of a severe concussion - without the damage."

"Grant, the time you guys used that stuff on me, I was sick for a week!"

"Calm down, Max! I've weakened the formula quite a bit since then. Nicholas will be uncomfortable, but he'll be all right."

"I hope so," Shannon said. "When's Jim due back?" 

"He's not. Stubin asked him to stay on to look after Nicholas. Evidently, he's worried Nicholas might die on him, before he gets his files back."

"Well that "hangover" shot of yours should keep him convinced," Shannon said quietly.

"Yeah, and maybe keep Stubin's big goon from doing any  
more damage," Grant said.

Max nodded. "I've seen this guy. He's bigger than I am. I'd hate to have to fight him."

"How's Michael holding up?" Shannon asked.

Grant took a deep breath. "So far, so good," he answered. "He's pretty scared, but he's doing better than we expected." He turned to his computer. "I've finished with the alterations on Stubin's files." He reached to pick up the phone.

Max took a deep breath. "I hope this plan works," he said as he ducked into the other room to change. 

"Me too," Shannon agreed.

Grant held up a hand for silence as Stubin came to the phone. "Stubin?"

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Name's Richards. I recently acquired something of yours - something valuable - if you know what I mean."

"And what might that be?"

Grant paused. "Some very interesting computer files."

"Yes?" Stubin's voice was noncommittal.

"Now, I could simply turn them over to the FBI, but I have some reservations."

"And just how many reservations are we talking about?"

"Oh, about ten thousand or so."

"Really? Why so few?"

"I know how much this information is worth, but who knows, I might need access to some of your resources  
some day. Call it a "finder's fee" if you like." 

"And how do I know you actually have my files?"

"Check your computer. I'm transmitting a small portion right now."

There was silence on the line as Grant flicked a couple of keys on his computer and sent some undoctored information over the modem into the other man's computer.

After a moment, Stubin returned. "All right, Richards, I'm convinced. Where and when?"

"Not so fast. I heard your men picked up a school teacher and a boy."

"You hear a lot, Richards. What about them?"

"I want them taken care of. I don't like loose ends."

"Yeah, well. I was considering that. Black's of no use to us, anyway, one of my men hit him too hard."

"Good. And, just to make sure everything goes as smoothly as possible, I'll take them off your hands and dispose of them myself." 

"You'll be doing me a favor if you do. What's your game?"

"That's my business. My people will make sure everything's taken care of - nice and neat - no witnesses - no embarrassing questions."

"All right, it's a deal. Where and when?"

"I'll be at your gate in an hour. We'll make the exchange there. And no tricks, Stubin, or the FBI might become very interested in your operations."

"No tricks," Stubin agreed.

Grant broke the connection and wiped the sweat off his face. It was almost over.

* * * * *

When Nicholas finally woke, sometime later, he looked around him without moving. He had a terrible headache  
and his stomach was reeling threateningly. The last thing he remembered was seeing a very large, very solid looking fist coming toward him. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus, but it didn't work. His depth perception seemed to have vanished. He could see Michael's blurry image sitting on the floor beside him. "How long have I been out?" he asked hoarsely.

Michael shrugged. "I'm not sure, but it's been a long time." He silently handed him the packet Phelps had given him.

Nicholas tried to sit up, then changed his mind as his stomach lurched. He slowly opened the packet. Inside, he found two, liquid filled pouches and he silently set about getting the blood packets ready for use.

"Open your shirt, Michael," Nicholas whispered.

"What's that?"

Nicholas put his finger to his lips. "It's a blood packet," he whispered. "Grant calls it a "convincer." It has a very small explosive charge inside. It will sting quite a bit when it goes off, but it won't do any damage. It's more for effect than anything else. Put it about here," he said, pointing. "When it goes off, just fall down."

"Just like in the movies?"

"Yes, Michael, just like in the movies," Nicholas repeated with a reassuring smile.

The boy opened his white shirt and placed the packet as he'd been told, then rebuttoned his shirt.

Nicholas forced himself to sit up, despite his violently protesting stomach and placed the other packet inside his own shirt. The movements made the throbbing in his head that much worse, but he had a feeling that lying down wouldn't help matters any and he wasn't too thrilled about losing any, or all, of the thankfully small breakfast he'd eaten that morning. He knew Phelps would only allow Grant to use the "instant hangover" drug in an emergency, but based on the way he felt - aching head, dry mouth, rumbling stomach and the loss of his depth perception - the risk hardly seemed worth it.

"Now what?"

"We wait."

They didn't have too long to wait. After less than ten minutes, Stubin and Contreras entered. Stubin took the boy by the arm and Contreras roughly hauled Nicholas to his feet. A set of handcuffs was slapped onto Nicholas wrists and closed almost too tightly. The boy and the agent were taken from the room and out into the bright, afternoon sunshine.

Jim Phelps was standing in the house's wide porch as Nicholas and Michael were brought out. He didn't like the pale and tired look on Nicholas' face and he had to remind himself that it was only the effects of the drug and that the younger man wasn't really injured. Nicholas did seem to be having some sort of trouble with his vision, though, and that DID worry him. Several times during the long walk to the gate, he tripped and had to be caught by Contreras. He seriously doubted there was any kindness in Contreras'  
actions, he was just trying to keep the agent moving. 

Phelps followed Stubin, Contreras, Nicholas and Michael to the gate in his car. The boy looked scared, but he seemed to be holding up rather well. The team leader passed the big, brown, cargo van they'd rented on his way out of the gate and drove back to the trailer. He, Max and Shannon would check the trailer to make sure they hadn't accidentally left anything behind while they waited for the van to return.

* * * * *

Near the Stubin's gate, Grant swung down from the van's driver's seat and approached Stubin and his men. He held up a compact computer disc and Stubin handed the agent a large, white envelope. 

Stubin quickly checked the disk on a lap-top computer and, apparently satisfied, handed the envelope to Grant. 

Grant motioned for Contreras to take Nicholas and the boy over to the van. He opened the double doors at the back. "Get in," he ordered roughly, giving Nicholas a shove.

Nicholas and the boy silently did as they were told. 

As soon as they were inside, kneeling on the tarp covered floor, Grant pulled a gun from his pocket and fired it.

Nicholas let out a startled cry as he fell back onto the floor as Grant shot him. The pained yelp hadn't been entirely fake. The explosion of the blood packet was painful and the handcuffs cut into his wrists at his sudden jerk away from the "bullet." 

"Professor Black!" Michael cried, horrified, not entirely sure he'd been told the truth about the team's plans.

Grant aimed the gun at Michael and pulled the trigger.

Michael let out a yelp as the blood packet exploded, spewing "blood" across the boy's chest and he dropped to the van floor beside Nicholas and lay very still.

Grant threw a heavy tarp over the two "corpses," slammed the van doors and turned to Stubin. "I'll be in touch," he promised and got back into the van. He quickly drove off through the gates. When they reached the trailer, he stopped the van and came back to the rear. He uncovered Nicholas and Michael and helped them sit up. "Way to go, guys!" he said with a bright smile.

"Wow!" Michael said excitedly. "That was great, scary, but great!"

"We'll get those cuffs off you as soon as we can, Nicholas," Grant promised. He opened the back door of the van and hopped out.

Max appeared with a load of equipment and grinned at Nicholas. "Hey, buddy, how are you feeling?" he asked as he and Grant stowed the gear. 

Nicholas leaned his back against the smooth, metal walls of the van. "I'll be all right," he muttered. 

Shannon came with another load of equipment and Phelps  
helped her put it into the van.

Grant helped Nicholas into the long seat across the middle of the van and bent to unfasten the handcuffs. He heard Max curse suddenly and looked up to see a trio of jeeps rumbling down the long dusty road. "Damn!"

"Everybody in!" Max yelled as he leapt into the driver's seat and Grant into the passenger seat. Phelps and Shannon joined Nicholas on the long seat and Michael belted himself into one of the fold down "rumble seats" in the back of the van. Max started the engine and drove out onto the narrow road.

After a few moments, Grant risked a glance out the van's passenger window, then slumped tiredly in his seat. "Damn!"

Max Harte, sitting beside him, expertly guided the speeding van around a corner. "If we don't get a little more distance on Stubin's men, we'll ALL be in that cell."

"No, thanks. I think Nicholas has had enough of Stubin's hospitality for one lifetime," the handsome Black agent remarked. He looked out the window again, then turned to peer into the back seat where Phelps was sitting with Nicholas and Shannon. 

Phelps was trying, unsuccessfully, to open the locks on the handcuffs.

"Any luck, Jim?" he asked.

Phelps shook his head.

Nicholas settled himself farther back on the seat. "Leave them, Jim. I'm okay," he assured the older man in a soft, tired voice.

The white haired team leader flashed him a worried look.

"I've had them on this long, a little longer won't matter," Nicholas muttered. He was lying, of course, his shoulders ached and there was blood - warm and sticky - on the inside of his right wrist. He knew there was no way Phelps could get the cuffs off anyway the way the van was bouncing along the rough, mountain road.

Phelps gave Nicholas another worried look, then pulled a seat belt around the younger man. "I'll try again when the road smooths out a little," he promised.

Nicholas nodded his agreement and closed his eyes, tiredly. He leaned his head against the smooth wall of the van and tried to rest while he had the chance. 

Shannon was suddenly slammed into the wall on the  
other side of the van. She let out a muffled "Uuff" as the van swerved unexpectedly to the left.

"Sorry," Max muttered. He was having trouble controlling the van and he knew he was going far too fast for this narrow, mountain road. The only benefit was that the road wasn't wide enough for their pursuers to come alongside and possibly overtake them. His blue eyes flicked to the rearview mirror to check on the whereabouts of Stubin's men.

One of the jeeps had fallen behind, but the other two were still there. 

They heard a pop as the right, rear window starred. 

"Everybody down!" Phelps ordered.

Grant was peering into the mirror beside him. He watched as another of the jeeps swerved and slammed hard into the grass covered cliff face. He could see the bodies of three of Stubin's men as they spilled out onto the pothole covered road.

The jeep in the rear swerved as the driver tried to miss the nearest of the bodies and Grant turned away as the tires rolled over the man's torso and continued on after them. "Hey, we're down to one, now," he informed the others.

"That's still one too many, Grant," Max said as he tried to get more speed out of the heavy van. 

Suddenly, the world seemed to develop a bad case of the shivers.

"Hold on!" Max yelled, fighting the wheel. 

The van bounced along the road like a child's toy on a  
waterbed. To their right, the guard rail twisted and split as an awful rumble filled the air. The van flipped over the edge, past the remains of the shredded guardrail and rolled over and over into a shallow valley where it finally came to a halt on its side.

The ground shuddered beneath them again and again and  
then, finally, thankfully, there was silence as sudden as the mad rumbles of only a few moments before. 

In the van, the stunned members of the Impossible  
Missions Force finally dared to breathe.

"Oh, God," Grant moaned. He carefully unfastened his seat belt and pushed himself away from the broken glass beneath him. "Max, Max, are you okay?"

The larger man looked dazed and there was a nasty looking cut over his right eye, but he seemed unhurt,  
otherwise. His seat belt still held him in front of the steering column. "Yeah... I think so." He touched the cut on his forehead and winced. "Ow! Thank goodness for seat belts. How about you?"

Grant nodded. "I'm okay." He turned to look into the back seat. "Jim?"

"I'm all right," Phelps answered. His left arm was twisted behind him and felt wrong somehow, but it didn't hurt, not yet anyway. "Shannon? Nicholas? Michael?" he called. Shannon was lying on top of him and he could feel Nicholas' body pinned beneath him. Neither of them had made any sort of movement.

"I'm all right, sir," Michael said weakly.

Shannon let out a low moan.

"Another country heard from."

"Shut up, Max," she mumbled, then groaned again.

"How do you feel?" Grant asked.

"Like I've been on the worst roller coaster ride in history. What the hell happened?"

"Earthquake," Grant answered. "Had to be at least a 4 or 5 pointer. Not too bad, but it was enough to shake us up pretty good."

"Great." She groaned again. 

"How's Nicholas?" Jim asked.

Grant reached over the seat and laid his long fingers  
against Nicholas' neck. "He's unconscious, but he's alive."

“Okay, let's get out of here and find out where we are." Phelps advised, with a sigh of relief. "Stubin's men are out there and earthquake, or no earthquake, they'll still be after us."

"Right," Max agreed. 

"Jim, I think you four had better stay put," Grant advised. 

"Yeah, let Grant and I come around and help you out from the back."

Phelps nodded. "Good idea."

Max cranked down the window, then tapped the button on  
his seat belt and pulled himself out through the opening. He stood atop the van, looking around - trying to get his bearings before he bent and reached down to pull Grant up through the window.

Grant let out a low whistle as they took in their surroundings.

The van was badly dented. It had come to rest on its right side about ten feet from the edge of a treacherous cliff. They could see down into a rock studded ravine that had to be a good one hundred feet deep. Thankfully, there was a wide, flat, grass and tree covered ledge about fifty feet wide below the road and the van had stopped there rather than rolling on down into the ravine. The ledge had saved their lives. Above them, they could see the shattered guardrail sticking out from the edge of the road.

"Well, I don't think the van's going to be going anywhere anytime soon," Max said, unnecessarily, as he and Grant jumped down.

"No kidding."

They forced open the right back door of the van. Max broke a heavy branch off a nearby tree and used it to prop the left door open so they'd have easier access. It took them several moments to get the stored equipment out of the back so they could get to the others, but, finally, Max helped Michael out of the van and Grant ducked in to help Shannon out the door and into a sitting position beside the roof of the van.

Michael didn't have a mark on him from the crash.

The pretty, female team member had some scratches and a small, but thankfully shallow, cut on her arm, but aside from being badly shaken, she seemed to be all right.

The moment Max reached their team leader, however, he knew there was a problem. The older man's left arm was strangely bent about halfway between the elbow and wrist. He carefully avoided stepping on Nicholas' still motionless body and helped Phelps out of the wrecked van. He sat him down beside Shannon and returned with Grant to see to Nicholas.

"It doesn't look good."

"You can say that again, Max," Grant said. He knelt beside Nicholas and took a moment to unlock the handcuffs from the other man's wrists. 

"I wish we didn't have to move him," Max said worriedly.

"I don't think we have any choice. If we don't get out of this area soon, Stubin's men will be onto us. We'll have to try to do something about Jim's arm before we go anywhere, though." He and Max carefully lifted Nicholas. They carried the other man out of the van and laid him gently onto the grass beside Shannon and Jim. "We're gonna need a stretcher, Max," Grant said. "He'll be more comfortable."

Max nodded. "Good idea," he said. He took the axe from the back of the van and went off to find something to use for poles. Grant ducked back into the van to get the tarps he'd used earlier. 

Shannon bent over Nicholas. There was a nasty looking  
lump on the side of his head, but other than that, she really couldn't tell the new bruises from old ones since he had evidently been beaten after he'd been captured by Stubin's men. "Damn, his wrists are a mess," she muttered. She tore her scarf in half and gently tied the two pieces around Nicholas' wrists. 

"I think that's the least of our troubles, Shannon," Phelps said. He groaned suddenly and cradled his arm against his chest protectively as he turned toward her. "We've got to get moving."

"I know, Jim." Shannon stood and, after a few moments, she returned with three, arm-length branches. She went back into the van and returned with the heavy, cotton jacket she'd worn earlier. She tore the jacket into strips and called to Grant and Max for help.

"Are you ready?" Shannon asked Phelps. "It's going to  
hurt," she warned him.

Phelps nodded silently. He knew it was going to be painful but they had no other choice at the moment, the broken arm had to be immobilized or there would be more trouble later. He took a deep breath. "Go ahead."

Shannon held the sticks in place while Max tied the strips around Jim's injured arm. He froze as Phelps cried out. "Sorry."

"I'm all right, Max,... go on," Phelps said in a tight, pain-filled whisper.

Max glanced up worriedly at Grant who shrugged. "Okay, Jim," he muttered. As gently as he could, he pulled the strips around and tied them behind Jim's neck and ribs.

Phelps held his breath against the pain as he felt the edges of the broken bone slide against his arm muscles. Their concerned faces swan before him, but he somehow managed to remain conscious. He rested his head against the roof of the van and closed his eyes. After a while, when the pain finally started to dissipate, Phelps looked over and watched as the two men began to fashion a stretcher out of the two long branches Max had cut from one of the nearby trees and a couple of tarps Grant had pulled from the back of the van.

Max and Grant brought the stretcher over and gently laid Nicholas onto it. Max and Shannon helped Phelps to his feet while Grant returned to the van and checked to make sure there was nothing more they would need. He returned with a rope, the axe, a hammer, some nails, half a book of matches and a metal bucket. He put the matches in his pants' pocket and gently laid the other items on the stretcher around Nicholas' feet and straightened. "Okay, I think we're ready," Grant said. He and Max picked up the ends of the stretcher and the Impossible Missions Team and the boy started off into the woods.

It was slow going at first. The brambles and low hanging branches seemed to be intentionally blocking their way, snagging on their trouser legs and scratching their faces as they moved as quickly and quietly as they could. Grant half-stumbled over a rock, nearly rolling Nicholas off the stretcher, but he recovered his balance and kept walking.

Shannon suddenly stiffened. "What's that?" she asked.

"What's what?" Max asked as he and Grant stopped to  
listen.

"I hear it too," Phelps agreed.

"Damn! It's a helicopter!" Grant told them. "It's just over that far ridge."

"Do you think it's Stubin's men?"

"It could be, Max," Phelps said.

Grant and Max looked around worriedly, searching for someplace for them to take cover, but there was nothing but trees and grass around them. 

The ground beneath them shook again, violently, throwing Phelps and Shannon to their knees. Michael fell with a grunt against a nearby tree. 

"Damn, even if we could find a place to hide, these aftershocks could make it more dangerous than Stubin's  
men," Grant said as he struggled to remain standing. Somehow, he and Max managed to remain on their feet and keep Nicholas from being thrown to the ground, but it wasn't easy.

Michael and Shannon quickly helped Phelps back to his feet and the little group started off again. They tried to stay under the wide canopy of trees as often as possible, so that, if the helicopter did come nearer, they wouldn't be spotted.

As they watched, the helicopter turned away and soared  
off in the opposite direction.

"Do you think they saw us?" Michael asked.

Grant shook his head. "No, if they'd spotted us, they'd have come after us," he told the teenager. He glanced down at Nicholas. "Max, stop!" he said sharply. "Put him down!"

The big Australian stopped walking and turned his head  
to look back at Grant. "What?"

"Put him down," Grant repeated urgently.

The two men lowered the stretcher to the ground and  
Grant rushed forward. He quickly helped Nicholas roll over onto his side on the stretcher and bent to hold his friend's head off the ground as Nicholas' stomach fought to empty itself onto the grass. When the spasms finally subsided, he helped Nicholas lie back on the stretcher. "Feeling better?" he asked his friend with a grin.

Nicholas groaned, holding his stomach and glared up at  
the other man. "I hate you," he whispered.

Grant laughed softly and went back to his end of the stretcher. "Keep your eyes closed for a while, Nicholas, and you'll feel better," he advised. "Ready, Max?"

They picked up the ends of the stretcher and started  
off again.

* * * * *

The small group finally stopped as the sun disappeared and the darkness started to surround them. Grant and Max helped Nicholas over to the base of a tree and Max set about dismantling the stretcher. Nicholas was feeling much better and Grant's hangover drug seemed to have worn off. It was starting to get a bit chilly and the tarps would make halfway decent blankets. 

"You know, we ought to set up a watch in case Stubin's  
men are still trying to find us," Grant suggested.

Phelps nodded his agreement. He was too weary to  
speak. 

"I'll take the first watch," Shannon offered. 

Jim's broken arm was undoubtedly bothering him. And,  
even though, she'd given him some of the aspirin she  
carried in her purse, she knew the tablets had barely  
taken the edge off the pain. Max and Grant were tired  
from carrying Nicholas through the forest and, while Nicholas was feeling better, he was not well enough yet to stand watch. She was tired too, but she felt she was in better shape right now than any of the men.

Phelps threw her a concerned look. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. "Yeah, Jim. I'll be all right. Besides, you all need the rest."

"All right, then," Phelps agreed. "But you wake Grant  
or Max in three hours."

"Promise."

"Okay."

As she watched the men settle down into sleep, Shannon's eyes flicked from one face to another in the bright moonlight. It struck her suddenly that she knew these four men better than she'd ever known anyone else in her life. 

She smiled into the darkness, remembering how well Lisa Casey, one of Jim's old teammates, still knew the white haired team leader, even after so many years. Years from now, she knew she would still remember the spicy Italian cologne Nicholas favored, and the clean, soapy scent of the aftershave lotion Grant liked. Max had a fondness for cinnamon gum, Nicholas hated peanut butter, Jim couldn't stand broccoli and Grant was allergic to strawberries. Max and Grant were open and outgoing, while Jim and Nicholas tended to be more reserved and quiet. 

Members of the Impossible Missions Teams tended to know each other better than most families and with good reason, no one knew when some slight detail might be the key to solving a problem or saving lives. Jim had originally chosen each of them for their unique talents and had wound up with one of the best teams the IMF had ever known.

Shannon pulled Jim's suit coat closer around her shoulders and shivered a little. They hadn't dared light a fire. It would have been too easy for Stubin's men to spot them. She glanced at the illuminated dial on her watch every so often and after three hours, she quietly woke Grant and settled down beside Nicholas under one of the tarps. She was asleep in only a few moments, but was dimly aware that Grant woke Max sometime later.

* * * * *

Nicholas woke slowly from a deep sleep. He smiled slightly as he realized that, while his wrists were still sore and he was stiff from sleeping on the ground, he felt much better than he had the night before. His headache was gone, his stomach was no longer doing threatening flip-flops and his vision was clear. He was even a little hungry.

Last night, the other members of the team and Michael had eaten some apples and berries Grant and Max had found and used the bucket to bring water from a nearby stream. He hadn't trusted his stomach enough to try the apples or berries, but he'd sipped some of the water before he'd dropped off to sleep.

Shannon was curled up beside him under the tarp and he slid his body carefully out from under it to avoid waking her. He looked around the little camp in the dim pre-dawn glow. Jim, Michael and Grant were still sleeping beneath the second tarp, but Max was sitting on a log at the base of a nearby tree.

"Morning, buddy," Max said quietly. "How're you feeling?"

Nicholas inhaled a deep lungful of the crisp mountain air and let it out slowly before he answered. "Much better."

Max smiled up at his friend. "That's good. We've still got some apples left, if you're hungry."

"I am, thanks."

The blond man tossed him one of the apples and Nicholas ate it slowly as he and Max waited for the others to wake up.

"Any idea where we are?" Nicholas asked, sitting on the log beside the other man.

Max shrugged. "Not really," he admitted. "I tried to keep track of our position last night, but we made a lot of turns when we were trying to avoid that helicopter. I lost my bearings."

Nicholas nodded his understanding.

They both froze at the sound of approaching footsteps.  
Max's hand tightened around the branch he'd cut the night before. 

Nicholas' eyes darted to where the others were sleeping. None of them had awakened. 

"Well, whoever it is, they walk like an elephant," Max whispered as he stood and silently moved in the direction of the sounds. Suddenly, Contreras burst from the nearby bushes, heading straight for Max.

The big Australian ducked to avoid the heavy rock Stubin's bodyguard hurled at him and swung the branch.

The branch struck Contreras across the ribs and he doubled over with a grunt. Unfortunately, the blow only slowed him down slightly as he slammed into Max, knocking the blond man off his feet and landing on top  
of him.

With Nicholas' help, Max was finally able to pin the larger man to the ground. Contreras swung his fist and connected with Nicholas' nose, knocking him away. 

Contreras struggled viciously and, without Nicholas' added weight, easily threw Max off him. He leapt to his feet and came at the Australian again, slamming him into a tree. Nicholas picked up the branch Max had dropped, swung and hit Contreras across the back. 

Stubin's bodyguard cried out, but didn't release his hands from Max's neck. The blond man's face was starting to color as Nicholas swung again, this time the branch struck Contreras' head and the larger man suddenly went limp and slid to the ground.

Nicholas dropped the branch and bent to check Contreras' pulse. The bodyguard was unconscious. "I guess that makes us even," he muttered as he walked over to Max who was beginning to catch his breath. "Are you okay?"

Max nodded. "Are you?"

Nicholas touched his nose gingerly. "I think the bastard broke my nose."

The two of them looked over to where the others had been sleeping. Jim, Grant, Michael and Shannon were all sitting up and staring at them.

"A lot of help you were," Max said, giving Grant a half-serious look.

"Three against two isn't fair," Grant told him with a grin.

Max playfully tossed a handful of leaves in Grant's direction and dropped back down onto the log. "I'm bushed."

Grant stood up and used his pocket knife to cut a couple of narrow strips off the edge of the tarp and used the strips to tie Contreras' hands behind his back. "Too bad we didn't bring the handcuffs he used on Nicholas."

I guess it's time we got moving," Phelps said quietly.

Max shook his head. "Jim, I'm sure I heard traffic noises over that way last night. If Grant and I can make our way back to the road, we might be able to get help."

"Or run into more of Stubin's men," Grant said. 

Max shrugged and indicated Contreras. "We certainly can't stay here much longer.

Phelps nodded. "Go ahead, Max. Nicholas, Shannon and  
I can keep an eye on Contreras." 

Max and Grant nodded and set off in the direction Max had indicated.

* * * * *

"Professor Black?"

Nicholas looked up. "Yes, Michael."

"You've done this before, haven't you?"

"Done what?"

Michael shrugged. "You didn't seem surprised when Mr.  
Phelps and the others came. Were you expecting them?"

"Not exactly, but I'm glad they came, aren't you?"

Michael nodded. The teenager was silent for a moment. "It's like some kind of Reserve Duty, isn't it?"

"Something like that," Nicholas admitted.

"How do I join up?"

Nicholas frowned. When the boy had started asking questions, he hadn't expected this. “Michael, you're only fourteen. I'm not certain you realize just how..."

"I know I'm just a kid, but, now that my parents are dead, I really don't have that many options."

He knew Michael's parents had been bankrupt at the time of their deaths. The boy remained at the school only because he had received a scholarship for academic excellence. "You've been thinking about this for some time, haven't you?"

Michael nodded. "We all wondered what you did when  
you weren't at the school. I know I can't tell the other boys what I've learned, but I'd like to be part of whatever it is."

"You're absolutely certain?" Nicholas asked. "This isn't like a class at school - you can't just quit when you get bored."

Michael nodded. "I understand that."

Nicholas glanced over to where Phelps and Shannon slept, then turned his dark eyes on the boy's paler ones. Had it been any other teenager,he might have come up with something to change their mind, but he knew Michael well enough to know that his interest was more than just hero worship. Michael's grades were more than adequate, his skill with computers was incredible for one so young and his behavior during the last two days had almost convinced Nicholas to mention the boy to Ross Conrad in the Recruiting Office for possible contact - after Michael  
had graduated from college, of course, but he'd hardly  
expected the teenager to request it. "I'll have to talk to a few people about it, Michael."

"Great!"

"You might not think so later," Nicholas warned with a soft chuckle. "There are times when this job can be rather..."

"Dangerous?"

Nicholas nodded. "And frustrating."

Before either of them could speak again, they heard a shout and saw Max and Grant running through the darkened forest toward them.

"Stubin's dead!"

"What?" Phelps asked groggily as he sat up. The other men had been gone almost six hours and Shannon had  
given him another double dose of aspirin and urged him to rest while he could. Seeing the condition of the younger men, he told them to rest for a moment. After Max and Grant had caught their breath, he motioned for them to continue.

"Stubin and his wife - they're dead," Grant reported.   
"Most of his men, too."

"How?" Shannon asked.

"The house collapsed and caught fire," Max explained.   
"We heard it on the radio while we were in town."

"Well, I can't say I'm sorry," Shannon muttered.

"We borrowed another van," Grant told them. "It's just on the other side of those trees. Anybody in the mood for a ride."

"And there's a doctor waiting for some patients," Max  
put in. "You guys look awful."


End file.
